Change is a precarious thing. Sometimes.

Tila and I were talking about change last night. We were lamenting the passing of our youth and things we have learnt from living on our own and the difficulty in adjusting to living with parents again and being around friends.

One of the many things we had in common was the issue with the laundry.

When I moved back in with my parents for a while last year, it was so strange for me to feel like a guest in my home. Or what I should consider my home, but sadly couldn't. My parents were equally unsure how to deal with having their adult child back in the house. I moved out when I was 19 and haven't really been around [over an extended period of time] them since.

My mother did not understand my insistence on doing my laundry separately. She couldn't understand why I wasn't comfortable adding my clothes to the laundry basket in the garage with the rest of the family clothes. My clothes were in my room and I'd do my laundry - Sunday was laundry day - or as and when needed. Mind you, I had no problem adding on to my load should it be a tad light. One of the reasons, we deduced, was that clothes tend to go missing in our houses - socks are no longer in pairs as one disappears to what my brother has termed the parallel dimension. Another possible need to handle our clothes comes from their load taking forever to get done. I realize mum has a method to her madness, but just when I'm in a hurry or running late, I discover that the very black shirt I grudgingly left in the laundry basket is alas, still in the laundry basket, and its usually useless asking mum why they are still there for I get explanations on all the sheets that were done or that it was that time of the week to wash all the towels or when sensing my irritation (at myself mind you, I was the idiot that put the shirt I need so desperately in the family laundry basket) an earful on being ungrateful.

So Tila and I came to the sage conclusion that living with a bunch of people makes you self-sufficient and to some, makes us very particular about our things. You learn the concept of refills - where if you've used something that belongs to one of your flat mates, refill it or if it's a regular thing (bread/cheese) buy the next set. We learn the joy of having a sanctuary/room to call your own where you can be and do what you want. We learn to socialize and discover the joy of having someone around that you enjoy being with. We learn to cook - if we can't and we learn the elements of compromise, letting go of small things for the greater good, we learn to share, the art of communication, we learn to educate our flatmates on our cultures and learn theirs, we learn patience and when to mind your own business. We learn that our friends will hold us when we cry, tease us about his chestnut eyes and brows, laugh at us when we talk to the 'fishies', hold our hair back when we're puking, drive us to the hospital when we're sick, share the last $100 when we're both broke (or add to your pathetic collection of coins so that you both can share a pack of ciggs), look out for us when we're at a club or when we run into mad ex- at a cafe. And that barely scratches the surface.

What we were wondering is whether living with a bunch of people (other than family) makes us different from our friends who stayed home. Does having the opportunity to do said things, be independent and deal with relationship up and downs make the way we react to situations distinct? Is that why she and her best friend have grown apart? Its all fine when you're far from the madding crowd, but when put back together, are they not sure how to react to your beliefs and worldviews?

For someone who knows the way you work, knows intimate details on the way you think, wouldn't it be fair to assume that as your friend, they would know that if you didn't want to do something, you would say so?

So is it that not being exposed to the propaganda as they are, we don't react to things in quite the same way, thus not wanting the family and kids and a [in their eyes] normal boyfriend or having outright disdain to abuse [of any kind].

So what is it?
Or is it, in the end, really not you, it's me?